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Painful Silence
August 30th, 2552 Fairchild Field, Reach, Epsilon Eridani System 0742 Hours It had been one hour since he lost contact with Victor-Four. One hour and eighteen minutes... Nineteen minutes. He let out a sigh, as his gaze fell from the holographic display illuminating the inside of the prowler's command center, his hand catching the bridge of his nose as he rubbed his closed eyes with frustration. "Sir. The situation outside is not getting any better for us. I advice we make for a safer---." "Distance. I know. But I think you'll agree, nowhere on this planet is safe at the moment. I just need you to stay focused on the channels." "It is doubtful we'll be receiving any transmission from them while they're still in or near the affected area. I can offer you some misleading gestures of hope from garbled chatter, but now is the time to be concerning ourselves with the possibility they won't return. Sir." CHANCELLOR's free hand clenched on the arm rest, the light wrinkles on his forehead intensifying as he furrowed his brow. Bradley was right. For all of the misgivings that lavish AI gave him, he was only speaking logically. The way he, an ONI handler, should also be thinking. Too much vital information rested inside this ship. Mission files. The black-box. Hell... Bradley himself easily took the cake on things he should be keeping out of Covenant hands. He finally refocused his weary eyes on the display. Waving a hand over the screen, he widened the span of the valley to the entire region of the planet, objects and symbols pacing through and across, most being red, with a substantial pocket completely blank... Who the hell dropped a nuke on his SPARTANs? "Twenty five minutes. They have until zero nine hundred to respond. Then we jump. Understood, Bradley." "Crystal clear, Sir." Smart ass. He stood from his chair, heading towards the front of the prowler, gazing out at the world falling around them. This was one of the UNSC's greatest strongholds of worlds. And it was turning to glass like all the others. "Sir? I may 'actually' have something." "Bradley. I didn't 'actually' give you permission to toy with me." "Which is why I'm not. A reading of friendly targets have just emerged from the radius." With renewed interest, CHANCELLOR rushed to the shining display, noticing the green markers upon the map, swiping back to concentrate on this new cluster of four targets. Four? "Seems they picked up a friend, Sir." "Yes. Multiple friends." Red markers sped behind green as they all raced down through the valley. Scenarios ran through his head, as he thought of some way to help, only for the red markers to suddenly stop or vanish all together. "Scans from the last few remaining drones indicate the destruction of a bridge at that location." "Keep an eye on them. And be sure to hail them when they're in a secure location." Minutes passed by like hours as CHANCELLOR remained at the display, his eyes not faltering except for the need to blink away irritation. Finally the cluster of green markers stopped a good hundred meters to the west of the valley. A sigh expelled from his lips, shoulders lowered, as he ended his tense stance with a soft clearing of his throat. "Sir. Opening channel." "DEIMOS to CHANCELLOR. Package is still secure. DEIMOS to CHANCELLOR. Over." "Nice of you to call. And here I was afraid I was going to have go over evaluations for another team..." Category:The Weekly